


Deliverance

by violet_storms



Series: femslash february 2021 [7]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Bonding, F/F, Femslash February, Mild Gore, Non-Graphic Violence, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 15:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_storms/pseuds/violet_storms
Summary: The worst part of the zombie apocalypse is…Well, actually, there are a lot of worst parts of the zombie apocalypse.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger
Series: femslash february 2021 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144880
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Deliverance

The worst part of the zombie apocalypse is the smell.

Alana thought, at first, that she’d get used to it. Nose blindness is a thing, right? Eventually, her senses will have to adjust. But, somehow, they never quite manage to. The smell is the first thing she registers when she wakes up in the morning, and the main thing keeping her from sleeping at night. It stinks. All. The. Time.

She knows she couldn’t really expect the apocalypse to smell like coconut and vanilla—not when half the world is infested with living corpses—but if there’s one thing Alana could change about the end of the world? The smell might be it.

Well. _Might_ be.

  


All right, so maybe the worst part of the zombie apocalypse is actually the zombies.

They’re not very fast, so that’s something to be grateful for, at least. Neither are they very focused—run circles around a zombie for long enough, and they’ll collapse on the ground, dumb and dizzy. But despite all that, they are still dangerous. They never get tired. They never get weak. And, no matter what you do, no matter if you cut off their arms and legs and shoot them right through the heart—they never stop coming.

Alana finds herself in such a situation about two weeks into the end of the world. She’s trapped behind the counter in the grocery store, with nothing but a broken shopping cart to defend herself with, and no matter how hard she batters the creature in the chest, it keeps growling and gnashing and reaching for her with its clawlike hands. Alana is practically sobbing with fear by this point, unsure how she’s ever going to be able to get out of this, when a shot rings out, nearly deafening her. Blood spatters everywhere and the zombie drops.

Shocked, Alana looks around to see a figure standing in the doorway. “Gotta go for the head,” says her savior, a woman with dark hair and a shotgun in her arms. “Only way to stop them.”

“Oh my god,” says Alana weakly, staring at the brain matter coating the floor. The woman takes in the same sight with only a mild expression of distaste on her face. Then her eyes wander over the empty shelves and ransacked aisles, and she makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat.

“Nowhere’s good around here anymore,” she comments. “It’s too bad.” She turns and pushes open the door, then looks back over her shoulder at Alana.

“Well?” she asks. “You coming?”

  


To be honest, the worst part of the zombie apocalypse might be the boredom.

Sure, fearing for your life all the time does give everything a bit of added spice. Yes, the never-ending struggle against death makes living a certain amount more exciting. Still, though, in the moments where Alana and Margot aren’t cutting off undead heads or working on target practice or guarding each other while they sleep—there isn’t exactly a lot to _do_ in the end of the world.

“It’s a global regression, really,” Margot comments one day. “No power. No tech. No international communication. We’ve gone all the way back to the nineteenth century.”

“Or earlier,” says Alana gloomily. “I haven’t spoken to anyone but you for weeks. I feel like a farmer in 1350. It’s just us and the fields and the corpses.”

“And our trusty automobile,” says Margot, slapping the hood of her car.

“How could I forget the automobile?” says Alana. Margot laughs. They’re seated on a low stone wall, eating their lunch, the car nearby in case they need a quick escape. Alana stares out into the distance. “It really is a regression. We’re never going to see a movie in theaters again, you know. We should read more. When was the last time I read a book?”

“God, Alana,” says Margot. “The zombie apocalypse and you’re thinking about reading a book?” She shakes her head. “What the hell did you do before this? I’ve never asked you.”

“I was a therapist.”

“Are you serious?” Margot gives her an incredulous look. “Wow. You are.”

“What?” Alana asks defensively.

“Nothing. It’s just ironic.”

“Why, what did you do before this?”

“I was in therapy,” Margot says. “To think. We could have met. We could have been friends.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” says Alana, wrinkling her nose. Margot laughs again, long and loud.

The next time they stop by a convenience store, Margot finds her a book in the cheap romance novel section. “Here, Dr. Bloom,” she says, tossing it across the aisle. “Have fun.”

“Aww,” says Alana, clasping it to her chest. “I knew you cared.”

Margot rolls her eyes, but before she turns away, Alana catches her smile.

  


Okay, but the _worst_ part of the zombie apocalypse is the weather.

Seriously. The summer was awful enough—there’s no air conditioning at the end of the world, so Alana and Margot had to suffer through hundred-degree days without even ice water to relieve their pain. But the winter is another story entirely. Even if they can find a safe shelter to spend the night in, which isn’t by any means a guarantee, the lack of insulation has become a real problem. Most nights, Alana and Margot are left to huddle together in the cold, as far away as possible from the broken windows and splintered doors every house seems to sport.

“Going to get frostbite at this rate,” Margot bites out one night, as snow pours down outside. “What a lame way to go.”

“I won’t let you get frostbite,” Alana says, teeth chattering. “I’ll do the thing you’re supposed to do, with the sleeping bag and the no clothes.”

“Yeah, you wish,” says Margot. “You’re just dying to see me naked, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Who else is going to watch my back while I go to the bathroom?”

“Fair enough.” Margot huddles closer to her, and Alana shifts so that she can wrap an arm around her.

“I won’t let you get frostbite either,” says Margot after a moment.

“Don’t worry,” says Alana. “I know.”

  


(The worst part of the zombie apocalypse is the carnage.

Alana has become desensitized to it now. Pick, hatchet, hammer, shotgun, axe; she’s used them all to dispatch a creature at one point or another. She doesn’t even flinch anymore when blood and guts get on her clothing, or when bits of skull stick to her hands. She doesn’t have the time.

Still. That amount of death. It gets to you. Alana feels it the most one day when they pass through a town and spot the shambling body of a six-year-old girl, skin peeling off in the summer heat. She can’t help but gag when the zombie, noticing them, raises its arms and growls thinly as it limps toward them, head lolling on its shoulders.

“Drive,” she says to Margot, voice breaking, and Margot does, pressing on the gas so hard Alana is slammed back against her seat.

Later, in the darkness, Alana awakens from a nightmare of Margot with her eyes glazed over and blood bubbling from her throat. She reaches for the other woman’s shoulder, gasping through tears, and Margot holds her, rocking her back and forth.

“I couldn’t do this without you,” Alana rasps. “Any of this.”

“Me either,” whispers Margot. “I couldn’t either, baby. I couldn’t.” )

  


In summary: the zombie apocalypse sucks.

It smells terrible. It’s dangerous. It’s boring. It’s sweltering, and it’s freezing, and it’s depressing. There is no one worst part, because everything about it is unbelievably awful.

But the best part of the zombie apocalypse?

Well, for Alana, as she watches Margot stand up in her seat as they zoom down the abandoned highway, arms spread out and laughing into the wind—the best part of the zombie apocalypse?

That’s easy.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
> 


End file.
